


The Black Knight (Him + Her smile)

by goodonebrea



Category: Original Work
Genre: Insanity, Murder, Other, Serial Killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4367399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodonebrea/pseuds/goodonebrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insanity is for the weak</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Knight (Him + Her smile)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for my Ext English class. We had to find, research and adapt an Australia serial killer and turn their case into a horror story. Naturally I chose one of the most gruesome murders.

(Original murder backstory [here](http://evilladies.com/females-that-kill-murder/katherine-mary-knight-%E2%80%93-austalia%E2%80%99s-most-evil-lady/) if you want to read it beforehand)

 

**The Black Knight (Him + Her Smile)**

 

Static fills the silence.

I stared.

Black and white,

         black and white,

                  black and white.

 

 

The door opens.

I rotate my head,

 

 

He kisses my cheek,

smile again.

He likes routine.

He likes me.

 

 

I trail after him.

         Bed.

               Bed.

 

 

I break routine.

 

His screams.

They won’t stop.

Just stop.

 

 

He runs.

I wait.

     And wait,

             And wait.

 

Static fills the silence.

I walk to the door, picking at the blood under my nails. Now I’ll have to do them again.

Aha! He’s there; lying in the remains of his bloody snow angel. I kick his head experimentally. Good condition. He always did have a nice body.

Hooking my hands under his armpits I drag his limp body into our living room. We picked out the furniture together.

 

 

Propped against our lounge his blank eyes watch as I set up. He needs to be carefully centred. I swing a length of rope through the hook residing on the top of the door jam. He’ll look nice up there. The loop on the end of the rope slides securely over his head. With a violent pull his limp body is thrown to reside between the door way.

 

 

This is my favourite part.

Did you know that the skin on the palms of your hands and soles of your feet is the thickest on your body? It’s always the hardest to remove. It’s just so thick. The rest comes off easy, like slicing through butter.

It makes me feel things. Good thing, things I can never duplicate elsewhere.

I begin at his scalp, and drag the blade down, down, down. Straight down the middle.

Symmetry was key. His cute little button nose spilt finely under my knife. I smiled.

I’d perfected it; removing all his skin in one go.

 

 

His skin rests on the tiled floor. Two pieces reflecting the other.

Beeping from the kitchen breaks my revere. The oven was ready.

What goes best with burgers? Our desolate pantry held limited resources. He only ever ate processed, packaged food. Standing on my toes I reach to the top shelf to retrieve the items I had stashed for so long; tomatoes, lettuce and cheese. Using the knife from my earlier activities I begin to chop up the ingredients. I've always enjoyed cooking, especially the preparation. Slowly slicing the tomatoes into equal thin pieces I place them onto plate, I risk a glance at the clock. Its 12:30, exactly 2 hours before my son’s birthday party begins. Perfect, I'd estimated the exact amount of time needed. But I'm still missing an ingredient.

 

 

The remains of his skinless body hang between our living room door. Dirty hand prints from our children scattered along the walls beside his swinging body. Those silly kids, now I’d have to clean everything again. Blood soaks into the knees of my jeans as I lower myself down. The surrounding pristine white carpet contrasts brightly with the red blood puddle I had created.

Starting at the back of his left foot I drag the knife mechanically across his ankle. My elbow smashes into the right wall. Bang, a photo frame drops. I crawl across the hallway to where the photo frame lay shattered on the floor, it’s of us; we were on a holiday, happy then; no children yet, his arm rests behind my shoulders and I look wonderful. I don’t like this photo anymore; slowly tearing it between us. Dropping my side of the photo I concentrate on him as I walk back to his body. I begin to tear his feet away from his body; gone.

 

I use his body to pull myself up into an upright position. I grasp his right hand and thread my fingers through his. I like holding his hand. Keeping a firm hold I slice my knife along his wrist, carving a delicate pattern of symmetrical lines, repeating until my blade is slicing air. Grabbing the photograph I tear his hands out of the picture.

 

I raise my head, right there, dangling in front of my face; the root of all evil. He never was very skilled in that area. I could smell the remaining substance from our earlier activities. He ruined me. This felt right, like I was achieving justice for myself. Throwing my arm down I lop the tip off. Repeating until four equal sections lay in a pile between his feet. I quickly swipe between his legs to remove his testicles. Beautiful, now he can never damage a woman ever again. Poking a hole with my nails through his crotch area, I drop the photo.

 

I reach for his neck. Curse my legs; I’m too short. Running to the kitchen, I grab a stool. Our kids use it to reach the microwave, now it serves a better purpose. I place the stool in front of him, standing I am now directly level with his blank eyes. This needs to be special. Jumping down from the stool I skip to the kitchen. Wrenching open the third drawer, I rifle through until I find our pizza cutter. Slicing softly on my palm, I test the knife. Blood droplets form on either side of the blade. Perfect. I race back into the lounge room, jumping onto the stool. Watching him closely, I place the pizza cutter under his chin, rolling slowly I begin to carve into his muscles.

Soon I reach his vertebrae, forcing the cutter with both hands into the gap in-between I push until the bone splits. Spinning him around, I begin to cut through the opposite side. Seizing his face my pizza cutter slices through the last strand of muscles. His head falls into my hands and his body drops to the ground.

Photo. Tear. Head gone.

 

 

Placing the pizza cutter’s handle in my mouth I gather all his body parts into my arms, and carry them to our kitchen, dumping them on the bench along with the cutter. Opening the second drawer, I pull out our potato masher, putting it into my back pocket. Everything’s ready to go.

I sit his feet on the chopping board, and pull the potato masher from my pocket. Holding his feet I raise my arm high and swing down. They crunch under my weapon. Swing again. The sound of bones breaking fills my ears as I slam the masher down, down, down. Blood, muscle and broken bone flicks up and hits my face. I smile, and lick my chin.

The crunching grows less prominent, maybe it stops, or maybe I’ve grown used to it. A mess of his feet lies on the cutting board. I grab a bowl from the cupboard, and scrape his mashed feet into it, watching as it slops. Placing his hands on the cutting board, I retrieve the pizza cutter. I spread his hands out. Starting from his thumb, I slowly remove each finger from his left hand. Doing the same for his right, I open the oven. Pulling a tray from its inside, I line all 10 fingers in neat rows. Leaving the tray, I return to his hands. Seizing my masher again, I smash his palms, and scrape them into the bowl.

 

 

His lifeless eyes stare at me as I rest his head and genitalia on our chopping board. They went well together. I raise my masher, and then remember; his teeth could be a safety hazard to our children. Removing them all quickly, I resume smashing his face and genitals. I’d always thought he had a thick skull, well, apparently not. His skull caved in almost immediately, leaving little to no work left. Raising the chopping board I slide the remains of him into the bowl.

 

 

I lift a baking tray from our oven. Laying the meat onto the tray and shaping them until they resembled pre-packaged burger patties. Our kids were going to love them. Opening the oven, I place the patties and finger food inside. Checking the clock, I set the timer for 10 minutes. Our kids should be home soon. Fuck. His body and skin was still in the lounge room. Slamming the oven door I race to the living room. Where was I going to put him? I spot his skin on the floor, quickly picking it up I run through the hallway. The closet resides at the end of the hall, perfect. Opening it I place his skin on a coat hanger and hide it between our dressing gowns, no one would ever notice. Turning away from the closet I hear our kids’ bus pull up. Shit, shit, shit. Racing down the hall I grab him by his stubby ankles and drag him back down the hallway. You would’ve thought that lopping off most of his limbs would lighten him up, but no. The door opens. Lifting him up and into the closet, I throw the door shut.

The oven beeps, my children yell for me.

I smile.


End file.
